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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495567">Cute Spectator Look</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/pseuds/vivianblakesunrisebay'>vivianblakesunrisebay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baseball, Competitive Pat, David Rose is a supportive husband, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Irrational baseball feuds, M/M, Patrick Brewer vs Ronnie Lee - Freeform, SC Sports Fest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:47:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/pseuds/vivianblakesunrisebay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>David considered Patrick a calm, rational, level-headed guy, but when it came to the baseball, Patrick kept trying to prove him wrong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Schitt’s Creek Sports Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cute Spectator Look</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCSportsFest">SCSportsFest</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to my wonderful betas, missgeevious and Likerealpeopledo!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David considered Patrick a calm, rational, level-headed guy, but when it came to the baseball, Patrick kept trying to prove him wrong. </p><p>First, there was his obsession with the Toronto Bluebirds, but David could deal with that. The games cut into their movie watching time considerably, but Patrick was always happy to cuddle and talk a little while he watched the matches, and that was fine with David. David was generally able to track the Bluebirds’ progress over the season from the number of triumphant blowjobs Patrick provided when they won, or the consolation blowjobs he liked to receive if they lost. At the end of the day, David figured he, personally, won either way.</p><p>More irritating was his obsession with his local baseball troupe. Or more specifically, the Feud.</p><p>David considered it his duty as Patrick’s husband to support him 100% in whatever illogical feuds he came to be involved in—up to a point. There was spousal loyalty, and then there was sound business practice. If the pipes burst, like they had during that cold snap last year, did they want to count on getting someone out from Elmdale? Ronnie had come and fixed them within an hour, and the store was back open a day later. David pointed that out to Patrick, and Patrick had to admit David was right. Actually, he had scowled and dropped the subject—but David knew what that meant.</p><p>Ronnie and Patrick operated at a low level of simmering hostility when it wasn’t baseball season, but as soon as the first match of the season started, David was sure to hear every week about some fresh outrage on Ronnie’s part, or hear Patrick crow about some pointless triumph. David had long ago decided his husbandly duties extended only to attempting to comprehend the barest outline of these events, but he was willing to listen and hum agreeably at appropriate moments, which seemed to make Patrick happy.</p><p>One day, they were at the store, arguing about the arrangement of the candle shelf (about which David was completely right), when Ronnie came in, greeted David with her usual deadpan calm, and then turned to Patrick and <em>smiled.</em></p><p>“Hi, Patrick,” she said, in a voice that matched the smile.</p><p>David almost dropped the candle he was holding. Patrick stood staring with wide eyes like he was waiting for the punchline. Or for the bomb to go off. </p><p>“Hi, Ronnie,” Patrick said finally.</p><p>“Ready for tomorrow?” she said, still in the same friendly, not-Ronnie tone. “Big game.”</p><p>“I think so,” Patrick said. Then he said, “Definitely. Yes. I’m definitely ready.”</p><p>“Is Valerie pitching?”</p><p>Patrick was instantly suspicious. He said, “You know I can’t tell you that.”</p><p>Ronnie gave a short laugh, but it was a friendly laugh, not the derisive scoff she usually had with Patrick. “Knowing who is pitching won’t help me that much,” she said. “But I admire your caution.” She turned to David. “Patrick has turned into quite a captain. He’d developed some new talent this season. Valerie’s good.”</p><p>Valerie. David was pretty sure he knew who that was. She was new in town, divorced and <em>trying new things,</em> which apparently included learning to throw a ball to the same spot, over and over and over again. Well, no accounting for tastes.</p><p>Ronnie turned back to David. “I’ll take some more of that essential oil blend, the one with the lavender in it,” she said. “I’ve been using it in that diffuser you recommended, and I’m finding it very soothing.”</p><p>David shot Patrick a triumphant look. These blends were something David had just brought in to the store, over Patrick's objections. Patrick had called them “essential snake oil.” Which he thought was very clever.</p><p>After David rang Ronnie up, she turned to Patrick and said, “See you at the game tomorrow.”</p><p>“Yeah. Um, see you,” Patrick said. Ronnie went out. </p><p>David said, “Was it just me, or was she a lot friendlier to you than usual?”</p><p>“Well, you heard her question about Valerie. She’s probably trying to gather intel,” Patrick said.</p><p>“Intel? What is this, the CIA? Are we in a war?”</p><p>“Well, we kind of are, David. A baseball war.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p>“What else could it be, David?”</p><p>David thought about that. “Maybe she’s angling for a discount on the essential oils. Or another diffuser.”</p><p>“I highly doubt that’s it.”</p><p>“Well, it makes more sense than ‘gathering intel’ for a sportsball game,” David said haughtily.</p><p>Some customers came in and prevented David from continuing to demolish Patrick in this argument. Just as well. When it came to the baseball and/or Ronnie, Patrick was immune to logic.</p><p>*</p><p>Later that night, they were curled up on the couch with popcorn, getting ready to watch a movie, when Patrick said, “So, I have another theory about Ronnie, and, uh, hear me out before you judge, okay?”</p><p>“What is it?” David said, prepared to immediately judge.</p><p>“I know this sounds crazy, but maybe—” Patrick paused.</p><p>“What?” David said. </p><p>“Maybe—she’s sincere. Maybe she’s ready to drop this silly feud. What do you think?” Patrick looked so hopeful, David hated to disagree. But.</p><p>“Oh, no,” David said.</p><p>“Why not? Think about it, David. It’s been three years since the bathroom incident, and I’ve been very careful not to do anything like that since then.”</p><p>David wasn’t sure what his face did exactly, but it must have conveyed his skepticism, because Patrick said, “I haven’t! I mean, nothing that wasn’t completely justified.”</p><p>“What about the—”</p><p>“I know what you’re going to say! The sink! That was a perfectly reasonable question for me to ask,” Patrick said, looking very annoyed. “It broke right off the wall!”</p><p>“When my sister and Ted tried to have sex on it!”</p><p>“A sink should be able to withstand that! That could have been <em>us.”</em></p><p>David smiled. “Well, you have a point there,” he purred. He put his hand on Patrick’s thigh.</p><p>Patrick patted David’s hand, but it seemed he wasn’t to be distracted. “I was just asking an honest question. If Ronnie hadn’t been determined to put me in the worst possible light, there would have been no issue, no issue at all.”</p><p>“Well, your <em>honest question</em> was whether she secretly used cheap materials and overcharged us. I had to sweet-talk her for <em>weeks</em> before she would even come in to look at it. Can I remind you that I washed my hands with bottled water for a month?”</p><p>“That’s not the point at all,” Patrick said.</p><p>“Isn’t it?”</p><p>“I was being perfectly logical,” Patrick insisted.</p><p>“Okay, honey,” David said.</p><p>“And,” Patrick said triumphantly, “Ronnie must realize how ridiculous she’s been, because she’s come in with a peace offering. She’s decided to finally be a grown-up about this whole thing.” He looked positively cheerful. “You’ll see, David.”</p><p>David wasn’t convinced, but sometimes it was better to let Patrick realize on his own how tragically wrong he was. “Do you want to watch <em>Charade</em> or <em>Roman Holiday?</em> You can choose,” he said generously.</p><p>
  <em>“Roman Holiday.”</em>
</p><p>David gave him a little frown, indicating this was the wrong choice. “Um, what makes you pick that one?”</p><p>“Gregory Peck. Very dashing.”</p><p>“You are correct,” David said with approval. “However, may I present <em>Charade</em> for your consideration? Cary Grant is also dashing.”</p><p>“True, but—”</p><p>“I know, it was during his unfortunate overtanning phase. But he’s still very good. More importantly, Audrey is delightful, and her Givenchy dresses are practically the second lead.”</p><p>“Okay, David, let’s watch that,” Patrick said amiably. </p><p>David felt a rush of affection for him. He leaned in to give him a quick kiss, but Patrick took hold of him and turned it into something more, kissing him slowly and sweetly and thoroughly. When he moved to press David back onto the couch, though, David pulled away and put his hand on Patrick’s lips. “Movie first,” he said, a little breathlessly.</p><p>Patrick didn't miss a beat, kissing David’s fingers instead, damn him. Patrick's hand drifted down, where David’s dick seemed more on board with Patrick’s idea than with David’s. “Are you sure?” Patrick said.</p><p>David briefly considered abandoning the movie in favor of sex, but no. He could have both. Movie, then sex. “Yes, I’m sure, but we will come back to this later,” he promised.</p><p>David picked up the remote, and they settled in to watch the movie. Audrey was as delightful as he remembered. David whispered some commentary on Audrey’s outfits and the evolution of the Givenchy aesthetic, and Patrick got very enthusiastic, in a cute music-nerd kind of way, about the unique syncopation of the theme music. They made out a little during the movie, and then a lot when it was over. They got each other nice and worked up, but then David insisted on relocating to the bedroom. They had their own bed and their own house now, and they'd spent too many months making out in uncomfortable places not to take full advantage. So then they had to pause to turn off the lights, and lock the door, and put the popcorn bowl in the dishwasher, before they could stumble up to bed and get each other off.</p><p>It was just an ordinary night, which was the best kind of night. This was David's life now, and some days he still couldn’t believe it. </p><p>*</p><p><strong>David:</strong> do you want to come to Patrick’s game with me today<br/>
<strong>David: </strong>I am bringing snacks</p><p><strong>Stevie:</strong> i don’t like sports</p><p><strong>David:</strong> Didn’t you used to play the baseball<br/>
<strong>David:</strong> on Ronnie’s team</p><p><strong>Stevie:</strong> This is how I know I don’t like sports<br/>
<strong>Stevie:</strong> she is ruthless</p><p><strong>David:</strong> well she was very nice to Patrick yesterday<br/>
<strong>David:</strong> Patrick thinks she wants to make up</p><p><strong>Stevie:</strong> what really<br/>
<strong>Stevie:</strong> there’s no way</p><p><strong>David:</strong> i know but he is v convinced</p><p><strong>Stevie:</strong> this I gotta see<br/>
<strong>Stevie:</strong> ok I’ll come</p><p><strong>David:</strong> wait<br/>
<strong>David:</strong> you can only come if you’re rooting for Patrick</p><p><strong>Stevie:</strong> pretty sure I can root for whoever I want</p><p><strong>David:</strong> if you sit with me it is a pro-Patrick zone<br/>
<strong>David:</strong> no snacks for you if you can’t abide by my rules</p><p><strong>Stevie:</strong> I’ll be Switzerland<br/>
<strong>Stevie:</strong> how’s that</p><p><strong>David:</strong> fine</p><p>He and Stevie arranged to meet at the game. David always got there early, because he went with Patrick and Patrick always wanted to “throw the ball around" or whatever. Plus it gave David time to set up his spectator station.</p><p>When Stevie arrived, he was just finishing up. She stood back, observing, as he got comfortable in his seat. She seemed to think something was funny. “You have quite a setup here,” she said.</p><p>Yes, David did have <em>quite a setup,</em> and why not? He had his collapsible outside chair, so he didn’t have to sit in the bleachers, and his blanket, so his chair didn’t have to sit on the ground. He had his umbrella, because sunscreen could only do so much. And he had his cooler, filled with fortifying snacks and drinks.</p><p>He’d carefully selected his my-husband-is-on-the-baseball-team spectator look. He was wearing a Neil Barrett sweatshirt, black with white flowers, and Rick Owens shorts. He was well aware this put him on a different tier, possibly an entirely different universe, fashion-wise, compared to anyone else in the audience. Still, just because none of these people were any competition at all, that was no reason for David to let his own standards slip.</p><p>Today, he’d packed extra food and an extra chair for Stevie, so she could refrain from mocking him, thank you very much.</p><p>“So you come to these games every week?” Stevie asked, settling into the chair he’d set out for her.</p><p>“Of course,” David said. “Why wouldn’t I?”</p><p>“I’m surprised, is all,” Stevie said. “Never took you for a big baseball fan.” Her lips were pressed together, as though that could prevent him from seeing she was laughing at him.</p><p>“Obviously, I am not,” he said. “I am performing my husbandly duty.”</p><p>“Ew,” she said. </p><p>“Get your mind out of the gutter, please,” he said. Although he would definitely be performing his <em>other</em> husbandly duty later. Game nights were always sex nights.</p><p>“Where is your husband?” she asked, squinting at the field.</p><p>David pointed at Patrick, wondering at her inability to pick him out on her own. He clearly had the nicest ass of anyone in either troupe, also the thickest, strongest thighs. The white pants of the Cafe Tropical costume set Patrick’s assets off nicely. Also, Patrick was almost always between the second and the third of the dirty base-bag things. Patrick had carefully explained which number went with which bag: first, second, third, and <em>home</em>—even though “fourth” would have been much more logical.</p><p>David was more familiar with the bases in their metaphorical, sexual sense. These metaphors were lamentably heteronormative, of course, with overtones of outdated sexual mores. Still, it was fun sometimes to watch Patrick standing on second base with his game face on, and to imagine that determined look was not about reaching the literal third base, but about getting his hand inside David’s pants. </p><p>Really, the look was not dissimilar.</p><p>David settled back with his pre-blended margarita and handed Stevie hers. He had frozen them at home and then kept them cold with ice packs. Stevie gave him a look, and yes, maybe this was a little elaborate, but she seemed to realize that if she wanted to actually drink that margarita, or sample his asparagus/steak tip puff pastry tarts, it was better not to criticize too much. </p><p>*</p><p>When Ronnie arrived, she walked over to Patrick and seemed to make a point of greeting him. David pointed them out to Stevie.</p><p>Ronnie wasn’t smiling, exactly, but her expression was less grim than usual. A Ronnie version of a smile. She clapped Patrick on the shoulder, then went off to join her troupe.</p><p>“Hmm,” Stevie said. “Interesting.”</p><p>Patrick approached and gave David a quick kiss. “Hi, Stevie.”</p><p>“We saw you talking to Ronnie,” Stevie said. “She seemed, um, friendly.”</p><p>Patrick looked pleased. “Yes, I’ve been telling David. I really think she’s ready to let this whole thing go.”</p><p>“Three years of feuding, over just like that,” Stevie said. </p><p>“Laugh all you want, but I think she might be for real,” Patrick said.</p><p> David uncapped the SPF 50 beeswax lip balm, and handed it to Patrick. He had been horrified to discover that Patrick was not in the habit of using lip balm at all, let alone when he was planning to spend hours in the hot sun. <em>I have an interest in protecting these lips, even if you don't,</em> David had informed him—which had inspired Patrick to put his lips to <em>very</em> good use, right then. Thus proving David right.</p><p>David brought his mind back to the matter at hand. “What did Ronnie say?” he asked. “Just now?”</p><p>Patrick said, “Just that it was a nice day, and she was looking forward to the game.”</p><p>“She said it was a <em>nice day?</em>” David said.</p><p>“That does not sound like Ronnie,” Stevie said.</p><p>“You guys are so suspicious,” Patrick said. “It <em>is</em> a nice day. What’s wrong with pointing that out?”</p><p>David grimaced.</p><p>Patrick looked over and saw his troupe running out onto the field. “Gotta go. Thanks.” He handed back the lip balm.</p><p>“Break a leg, honey!” David called after him.</p><p>Patrick called back, “It’s ‘good luck,’ David.”</p><p>*</p><p>The game started. Valerie was throwing the ball for Patrick’s troupe.</p><p>Stevie and David finished the steak tip tarts—Stevie ate way more than her share—then David opened the cooler again. “Aioli-drizzled risotto cakes or cheddar Pringles?” he asked.</p><p>“I’ll take the Pringles,” Stevie said, and he handed them over.</p><p>“This is quite a menu,” she said, opening the can.</p><p>“What do you mean?” he said. </p><p>“It’s just—do these chips really complement aioli cakes?"</p><p><em>“Risotto</em> cakes <em>drizzled</em> with aioli,” he corrected. "I’m capable of enjoying many different types of food. I have a broad palette.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” she said. “I’ll stick with the Pringles.”</p><p>“Well, give me some,” David said. She handed him a stack.</p><p>The first few acts went by. All the little players on both troupes did their parts and the numbers on the board didn’t change.</p><p>When Ronnie was doing the batting, she hit the ball to Patrick, who picked it up and threw it to first base. That was usually good for a glare or two from Ronnie, but instead she said, “Good play, Brewer.”</p><p>“You know,” David said to Stevie. “It’s <em>possible</em> Patrick is right about Ronnie.”</p><p>“How?” Stevie said. “Because of your essential oil blends?”</p><p>She was clearly mocking him; however, he could rise above. “Not just that,” he said. “Hear me out. So, sports are weird? Like—” He tried to think of how to explain. “Patrick likes the Bluebirds, right? So, then, he has to hate the Red Pants or whatever.”</p><p>“Red Sox?”</p><p>“Sure,” David said. “But when the Red Pants play the New York troupe, then he’s all ‘hurray Red Pants’ or whatever.”</p><p>“Did you just say ‘hurray Red Pants’?” </p><p>“I did,” David huffed. “In the service of illustrating my point.”</p><p>“So what is your point?”</p><p>“That you can hate someone one day, and then for some sports-related reason, suddenly not hate them. At least temporarily."</p><p>“I don’t think that applies here,” Stevie said.</p><p>“I’m just saying, sports make people kind of insane.”</p><p>“Well, I’m bored,” Stevie said. “Nothing is happening.”</p><p>This was true. They were about an hour into the game and no goals had been scored. Nobody had even gotten onto a base.</p><p>Stevie said, “What else do you have to eat?”</p><p>David held up a packet of gummy worms. Stevie took it. “Is that it?” she said.</p><p>“I have more risotto cakes,” he said, but Stevie shook her head. “I also have dessert,” David said. He opened up the cooler to show her. “Two mini cheesecakes. One for you, one for me. Or I can have both, if you keep complaining."</p><p>“Did you bring one for Patrick?” Stevie said. “He’s the one burning all the calories.”</p><p>“Oh, I’ve got his snacks, when intermission comes. He doesn’t like to eat too much when he’s playing. Orange slices and—” he shuddered. “Gatorade.”</p><p>“Oh, so Pringles and gummy worms are good, but Gatorade is over the line?”</p><p>“Beverages should not look like antifreeze,” David said.</p><p>“I’ll take the cheesecake and the gummy worms,” Stevie said. </p><p>David handed them over, then decided he’d have his cheesecake too. Dulce de leche, his favorite. </p><p>Stevie looked over at the field and said, “Wait. Gwen and Valerie are on base. How did that happen?”</p><p>David said, “Oh, one walked to the first base, and then the other one hit the ball over there so the first one ran to the third.”</p><p>“Huh,” Stevie said.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I didn’t even know you were paying attention.”</p><p>“I’m not <em>paying attention,”</em> David said. “I just happened to see. It’s right in front of me.”</p><p>“It’s right in front of me, too, and I didn’t notice.”</p><p>“I’m just naturally more observant than you,” he said. “I’m not, like, <em>watching.”</em></p><p>Then he sat up, because now Patrick was walking up with the bat in his hand. It was fun when Patrick was doing the batting; David could admire his ass sticking out and his arms flexing as he swung the bat. It was all very good. Ronnie threw the thing, and Patrick hit it and it arced up high in the air to the outer part of the field. Someone ran over and caught it.</p><p>David clapped.</p><p>Stevie was digging in the cooler. She took out a soda and looked up to see Patrick jogging back to the dugout. “Why are you clapping? He got out,” she said.  </p><p>“He got a BBI,” David said. “That’s a good thing.”</p><p>“You mean an RBI?” </p><p>David waved that away. “I don’t think the letters matter, Stevie. But see that person,” he pointed at the woman with the gray hair—Gwen, apparently. “She ran in to the fourth base after the other team caught the ball, and now Patrick has a goal.”</p><p>Stevie snickered. </p><p>“What?” David said icily.</p><p>“Nothing, nothing,” Stevie said. </p><p>During the next break, Patrick jogged over to say hello. David opened the cooler and stood up to give Patrick his water bottle, which he’d been keeping on ice. Patrick gave him a quick kiss. </p><p>David said, “Good job with your MBA, honey.”</p><p>“Aw, thank you, David,” Patrick said. “I went to school for two years for it." </p><p>“Ha ha. BBI, or whatever,” David said, and Patrick pulled him in to give him another, more lingering kiss. David shot Stevie a triumphant look. See? The letters didn’t matter.</p><p>Patrick took a drink of his water. David thought he didn’t look as happy as he usually did in this situation. “Aren’t you pleased about your BBA?” he asked.</p><p>Patrick said, “Oh, I am. It’s just—it should have been a homer. Or at least a double. I got under it a little.”</p><p>David had no idea what that meant. He rubbed Patrick’s shoulders and said, “Well, you got the goal, that’s what counts.”</p><p>Patrick shook his head. “Ronnie hung the pitch right over the plate. She screwed up, and I should have taken advantage.”</p><p>As Patrick was saying this, David looked up to see Ronnie walking by. He thought her face tightened for a moment—it was so hard to tell with Ronnie, she had a permanent poker face—but then she came over and said, “Nice hitting, Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick looked guarded. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Coming through in the clutch,” she said. “First run of the game. Good one.”</p><p>Patrick looked slightly blank, like he did when the register didn't balance at the end of the day. <em>Does not compute.</em> David nudged him, and he said, “Uh, thanks.”</p><p>Ronnie nodded at them all and walked away.</p><p>“Okay, that was a little weird,” Patrick said.</p><p>“Why do you say that, Patrick?” Stevie asked. “You got a BBA and took the lead, so why wouldn’t Ronnie, your archenemy, congratulate you?”</p><p>David made a face at her, but she ignored him as usual.</p><p>“It’s weird,” Patrick said. He was chewing on his bottom lip. David was going to have to get out the lip balm again. “Because she knows she hung that pitch. Maybe she’s taunting me after all.”</p><p>“On the other hand, she might have a particular reason to be in a good mood,” David said. “May I once again suggest—”</p><p>Patrick broke in. “This is not about the diffuser, David!” </p><p>“You don’t know that!” David said. “Those essential oil blends are personally hand crafted. They’re absolutely life-changing.”</p><p>Stevie snickered. “What?” David said, whirling on her. “You wouldn’t know, because you have no spiritual depth whatsoever. You’re stuck in permanent point-and-mock mode.”</p><p>Stevie laughed harder. “Yep, and that’s the way I like it.”</p><p>Patrick was staring at Ronnie. “I don’t know.” He pressed his lips together, looking determined. “I’m going to figure it out.” </p><p>*</p><p>Patrick seemed off. His playing was off.</p><p>He was distracted, David could tell. Patrick kept looking at Ronnie, checking in on her reaction to anything that happened. And, no matter what, Ronnie was friendly and encouraging. David had never seen her be so nice. It was unnerving, like in those body snatcher movies when all the friendly townspeople turned stone-faced and robotic, one by one. Except the opposite, in Ronnie’s case. </p><p>Other people were starting to notice. David heard Roland ask Ronnie why she was “fraternizing with the enemy.” </p><p>“Shut up, Roland,” Ronnie said, still sounded incredibly good-natured. Ronnie was even being nice to Roland. Wasn’t it at least <em>possible</em> that they were seeing the magic of essential oil therapy at work?</p><p>Patrick struck out twice.</p><p>The only comforting thing is that Ronnie and the rest of her troupe didn’t seem to be playing that well either. The score stayed at 1 to 0. </p><p>*</p><p>That changed in the seventh act.</p><p>David gasped.</p><p>“What?” Stevie said, looking up. Her mouth was full of the gummy worms she was gorging on.</p><p>“Patrick dropped the thing.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“When Ronnie hits it, he’s supposed to pick it up with his mitten and throw it to first base. But he dropped it.” Patrick had quickly stooped and picked up the ball, but by then Ronnie was standing on the base.</p><p>Patrick looked grim.</p><p>It got worse from there. More people hit more balls, and Ronnie made it all the way around the field and scored a touchdown. Then another person scored. Then another.</p><p>That act finally ended, after Ronnie’s team had scored a bunch of touchdowns and took the lead. </p><p>“Well, that was a disaster,” Stevie said. “Patrick fucked up.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” David scolded. “You can’t take sides. You’re Switzerland.”</p><p>“Switzerland can make an observation, and he fucked up. It’s an objective fact.”</p><p>David snatched the bag of gummy worms back from her. If she was going to say things like that, she didn’t deserve them. </p><p>The crowd started singing “Take me out to the ball game”—a horrible song, horribly sung. David said, “Okay, it’s intermission. Here he comes. Be encouraging.” He opened up the cooler, where he kept Patrick’s snacks.</p><p>Patrick made his way over, looking pained. “I can’t believe I dropped it,” he said.</p><p>David handed him his orange slices. “I know, honey,” he said. “Eat these while I put more sunscreen on you.”</p><p>Patrick started on the oranges. David got the sunscreen out and said, “Turn around,” and rubbed sunscreen on the back of Patrick’s neck. He slid his fingers under the neckline of the costume to make sure he was covering all the exposed skin. Of course, he got sunscreen on the fabric that way, which normally he would never do—even with Patrick’s generic clothes, David had standards—but this fabric was basically made out of rocks and plastic, so it didn’t matter. </p><p>Patrick said, “I just feel bad for Valerie. She’s starting her first game, and I let her down.” </p><p>David motioned for Patrick to take off his hat, which he did. “Well, I doubt she sees it that way. Close your eyes, please,” David said, and when Patrick obeyed, David smoothed sunscreen over Patrick’s face, carefully avoiding the ridiculous black paint that Patrick had smudged under his eyes. Ridiculous, and a bit of a tease, because it made David remember how sexy Patrick looked with a little eyeliner, like when he was in Cabaret. He couldn’t resist dropping a kiss on Patrick’s lips. Patrick’s eyes fluttered open with a smile.</p><p>“Okay, you’re good,” David said. He got out one of the organic wipes he’d brought to wipe the sunscreen off his hands. </p><p>“Here comes Ronnie,” Stevie said.</p><p>“Don’t say it,” Patrick said to Ronnie as she approached. “I know I screwed up.”</p><p>Ronnie said, “Well, it took a funny bounce.”</p><p>Patrick said, “I still should have gotten it.”</p><p>She smiled sympathetically and said, “Well, you’re such a good player, you were bound to make a mistake eventually.” Then she patted him on the shoulder and walked away.</p><p>After Ronnie left, Patrick said. “Okay, tell me honestly. Do you think she’s for real?”</p><p>David opened his mouth, and Patrick said, “Do not mention your essential oils, David.”</p><p>“Fine,” David said. “Honestly? If you ask me, even if you guys were friends or whatever, this isn’t how Ronnie would act.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“The baseball would make her more—” he waved his hands to convey the illogical way sportspeople acted about their sports. </p><p>Patrick said. “What do you think, Stevie?”</p><p>“I think she’s for real,” Stevie said. “Baseball is the great uniter. It brings out the best in all of us.”</p><p>David scowled at her. This was a transparent attempt to mislead his husband, in the hopes of stirring up drama. <em>What?</em> she mouthed.</p><p>“Do you really think so?” Patrick said, pleased.</p><p>Ugh. Patrick was usually not that naive. Ronnie was clouding his brain. David decided to change the subject. “Gatorade?”</p><p>Patrick took his antifreeze and chugged it, and then kissed David with his blue lips. Good thing Patrick was such a good kisser.</p><p>*</p><p>Stevie found David’s backup stash of popcorn, which he kept in case the game went into overtime. She ripped open the bag even though it was only the seventh act.</p><p>“At least give me some,” he complained, and she held out the bag for him to take a handful.</p><p>When Patrick went up to do the batting, he hit the ball so it bounced slowly toward Ronnie’s little hill. Ronnie picked it up and threw it to Roland, a bit high. Roland missed it. He ran to get the ball as Patrick went on to second base.</p><p>Then more people got on more bases, and Patrick came in for a goal, and a few more people did, too, until the Cafe Tropical troupe took the lead. After the segment was over, David heard Roland say, “Ronnie, what the hell was that throw?”</p><p>Ronnie said, “Okay, Roland.”</p><p>But Roland wouldn’t let it go, he kept miming the high throw Ronnie had made, flailing around mockingly.</p><p>Patrick was nearby, listening, and he finally said, “Come on, it wasn’t that high. You could have caught it."</p><p>Roland looked at Patrick and said mockingly, “Of course you’d defend your new best friend, Pat.”</p><p>Ronnie said, “Roland is right. My throw was high.”</p><p>David could see Patrick thinking about what to say, then his <em>I’m going for it</em> look came over his face. David tensed up for whatever was coming. Patrick said, in a friendly voice, “Well, look at this way. You’re such a good player, you were bound to make a mistake eventually, right?” David winced. He was pretty sure Ronnie wouldn’t like that.</p><p>Ronnie fixed Patrick with a look that would have withered David on the spot, if it was ever directed at him. Thank God Ronnie liked him. She said, “I don’t remember asking for your input, Brewer.” </p><p>David glanced at Stevie. Her eyes were wide as she stuck her hand in the bag of popcorn and brought out a handful.</p><p>Patrick looked taken aback and said, “Sorry, I was just—”</p><p>“Let me tell you something,” Ronnie said. “I don’t need you to protect me, especially from Roland.”</p><p>Patrick said, “But I thought—” then visibly clamped down on whatever he was going to say.</p><p>“You thought what? Did you think we were actually best friends now?” Ronnie said.</p><p>“Well—” Patrick began.</p><p>Ronnie said, “I was just messing with you. And you fell for it.” She barked out a laugh. “God, I just couldn’t keep it up. That’s on me.”</p><p>“Oh, ho! Psychological warfare,” Roland said. “Good one, Ronnie.”</p><p>Patrick’s cheeks were flushed a deep red. He sputtered, “So all along—I can’t believe—”</p><p>“You’re so desperate for everyone to like you,” Ronnie said, still chuckling. “It’s a real character flaw, you know.”</p><p>David could see a muscle jumping in Patrick’s jaw. He burst out, “I should have known it was too much to expect that you would grow up—”</p><p>Ronnie stopped laughing. “Grow up?” she said. “I’ve got news for you. I <em>am</em> grown up. Grown up enough to know that I don’t like <em>you</em>. And I’m going to win this game.”</p><p>Patrick’s mouth was set in a grim line. “You think so? We’ll see.”</p><p>They glared at each other, and Ronnie turned and strode off. </p><p>“Nice going, Pat,” Roland said. Patrick made a frustrated sound and strode off in the opposite direction.</p><p>Stevie said, “Oh, man, things just got <em>interesting.”</em> She was still munching on popcorn.</p><p>“Give me that,” he said. He snatched the bag back from her. He dug in for a handful himself. No sense letting it go to waste. Besides, Stevie was kind of right.</p><p>*</p><p>After that, the game stretched out. Patrick and Ronnie both seemed determined to battle for every point. Ronnie’s troupe scored another goal, so the match was tied. Then Patrick’s troupe scored. Then Ronnie’s. </p><p>Valerie was still pitching. She looked tense and nervous. Patrick didn’t come over to say hello to David between acts anymore. Instead, he spent the time talking with his troupe, especially Valerie, except when he took the time to send a glare in Ronnie’s direction. She glared back.</p><p>*</p><p>It was the end of the match: second half of the ninth act. The score was tied again. Patrick’s troupe was doing the batting. The bases were full of people. </p><p>Patrick came up to the plate. He looked calm. </p><p>Ronnie threw the ball and it sailed by Patrick. He didn’t move. </p><p>“Strike!” the man said.</p><p>“You look nervous,” Stevie said. “This the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. David Rose caring about baseball.”</p><p>“Shut up,” David said. </p><p>“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Stevie said. </p><p>“Fine!” he said, throwing up his hands. “It’s stupid, but I’m invested now.”</p><p>“I’m just delighted to see you growing and changing and discovering new interests, David. Like sports!” </p><p>David flipped her off and turned his attention back to the game. Patrick swung at Ronnie’s throw and it sailed backwards into the bleachers. Then he did it again. Then another throw. “Ball,” said the umpire. Then another ball. Then Patrick just kept hitting it, behind him, off to either side, but never onto the field. It kept going like that, pitch after pitch.</p><p>Then Ronnie threw again. Patrick stood motionless.</p><p>David’s eyes jumped to the umpire. “Ball,” the man said. David jumped up and clapped and let out a sound that sounded like a—</p><p>“Did you just cheer?” Stevie said. </p><p>David said, “That wasn’t <em>cheering.</em> It was a noise of—of support.”</p><p>“A noise of support. Not a cheer. Got it,” Stevie said.</p><p>Patrick’s team was crowding around Patrick, slapping him on the back and giving him high fives.</p><p>David said, “Well, Patrick won. It’s my duty to support him, even if it means occasionally—”</p><p>“Making noises of support?”</p><p>“Yes, exactly.</p><p>“Well, I don’t get why Patrick did anything. He didn’t even hit it.”</p><p>David said, “You don’t know?”</p><p>Stevie was grinning. “Explain it to me, David.”</p><p>“There were people on all the bases,” he said. “So when Ronnie threw four pitches that weren’t in the, the proper, um—” He drew a box in the air.</p><p>“The strike zone?”</p><p>“Yes, so when Ronnie did that, Patrick walked to first base, so that means all the other people on their little bases walked too, including the person on third. And when that person walked to fourth, they scored a goal, and the game is over.”</p><p>“Mm, sorry, still don’t get why that means Patrick is the hero. Sounds like Ronnie just screwed up.”</p><p>“It means he was <em>patient.</em> He made her pitch to him. He was—” he broke off. Stevie seemed to find something very funny. “Whatever. I’m not talking to you.” He turned his attention back to Patrick, in time to see one of Patrick’s male teammates slapping his butt. Really, the homoeroticism of this game, sometimes.</p><p>As David watched, Patrick looked over at Ronnie, who was still on her little hill, looking very grumpy. Their eyes met, and Patrick gave her a short jerk of his chin. After a beat she inclined her head in a nod, and their eyes held for a moment, mirrors of each other. </p><p>*</p><p>Patrick came over. “Did you see that?” He kissed David hard on the mouth, with lips that tasted like salt from his sweat and beeswax lip balm.</p><p>“Of course I saw,” David said. “Good job, honey.” He handed him his Gatorade.</p><p>“So, I guess Ronnie isn’t ready to bury the hatchet,” Stevie said. “Sorry, Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick scoffed. “Oh, I should have known it was just a mind game she was trying to play. She’s so competitive. It’s ridiculous.” </p><p>David kept his mouth shut with an effort, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from sliding over to Stevie. Patrick saw it.</p><p>“Okay,” he huffed. “I can get competitive too. But not as much as she does.”</p><p>David was debating whether his husbandly duties extended to supporting delusional thinking, when Valerie came up.</p><p>“We’re going to the Wobbly Elm,” she said. “You guys in?”</p><p>“Whatever David wants to do,” Patrick said, sliding his arm around his waist. He turned to David. “You choose.”</p><p>David had long ago gotten over his disappointment—with only an occasional pang—that most game days did not include a post-game barbecue. Instead, the players on both teams usually went to the Wobbly Elm after, especially if the Bluebirds were playing. </p><p>Because apparently, after finally finishing playing this silly game, what sounded like fun was going somewhere to watch more of it on TV.</p><p>But David knew Patrick would be excited to celebrate after winning, so he said, “Yes, we can go for a bit. Stevie?”</p><p>“If you’re buying.”</p><p>“If you get the cheapest drink on the menu, maybe.”</p><p>“You say that like I would think that’s a bad thing,” Stevie said.</p><p>*</p><p>When they got to the bar, David and Stevie sat down in a booth while Patrick went to get their drinks.</p><p>“David Rose in a sports bar,” Stevie said. “Do you want to trade places with me so you can see the TV? Keep your eye on the game?”</p><p>“Please. I’m only here for the snacks and the free alcohol,” David said. </p><p>“Mm, you sure about that? I think you’re turning into quite a fan.”</p><p>“I am not,” he said indignantly. “I don’t even know the rules of this stupid game.”</p><p>“David, you were practically giving me a play by play today.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know what that means.”</p><p>Stevie said, “Oh yeah? Try this. What happens when Patrick fields the ball, throws to second to get one runner out, and then the second baseman throws it to first to get the other runner out?"</p><p>“I have no idea,” he said. “What you said was just gibberish.”</p><p>“Okay, what about when Patrick comes running over to you afterwards and he says, “Kiss me, David, I just turned a …” she raised her eyebrows.</p><p><em>Double play,</em> his brain said. “Fuck,” David said.</p><p>Stevie laughed.</p><p>“Shut up,” he said crossly. “Don’t you dare tell Patrick. If he knows I understand this stuff, he’ll make me watch the Bluebirds with him.”</p><p>“Um, David, I hate to break it to you, but you already watch the Blue Jays with him.”</p><p>“I do not.”</p><p>“You do. All the time.”</p><p>“I sit on the couch with him, maybe, and read a book or something, while he’s watching.”</p><p>“Do you actually read the book, though?”</p><p>“Well, I listen when he talks to me, because I’m <em>polite.”</em></p><p>“But do you understand what he’s saying? Do you recognize the players? Or try this: do you know what an intentional walk is?”</p><p>“Um,” he said. “Maybe,” even as his brain betrayed him by supplying the definition.</p><p>“David,” Stevie said, leaning in close. “Do you understand the infield fly rule?”</p><p>He clapped his hands over his cheeks. “Oh my God!”</p><p>“David Rose, sports jock,” Stevie said gleefully, because she was a monster.</p><p>*</p><p>Patrick came back with their drinks, with Valerie in tow. She slid into the booth next to Stevie. David couldn’t keep his mind on his identity crisis, not with Patrick sitting next to him, rubbing his thigh under the table, planting kisses on his cheek, making sure he was included in the conversation. Patrick after a few beers was always very handsy and affectionate, and David felt flushed and very warm, half from pleasure at the attention and half from the bad wine he was drinking.</p><p>Stevie was drinking the cheapest drink on the menu, a bright green drink called the Bad Bitch. A little too on the nose, if you asked David.</p><p>Later, Ronnie came over and sat down with them, pulling up a chair next to Valerie.</p><p>Patrick was holding up his drink, ready to make a speech or something, and he gave Ronnie a confused, suspicious look. She said dryly, “Oh, I’m sorry, may I sit here?”</p><p>“Of course, you’re welcome to join us, Ronnie,” Patrick said, polite Canadian boy that he was. He held up his glass. “I was just about to propose a toast to Valerie, my star pitcher. The real hero of the day.”</p><p>“I’ll drink to that,” Ronnie said. Everyone clinked glasses, and drank.</p><p>“Well, I couldn’t have done it without Patrick,” Valerie said.</p><p>Patrick said, “No, it was all you. If anything, I was a hindrance.”</p><p>“I’ll drink to that,” Ronnie said.</p><p>Patrick made a face. Valerie shook her head at Ronnie and said, “I’m just relieved it went okay. I was so stressed.”</p><p>Ronnie said, “You know what’s good for stress? Aromatherapy. You can talk to David about that. He’s got some great essential oil blends.” She sipped her beer.</p><p>David poked Patrick in the ribs. “I heard, David,” Patrick muttered.</p><p>“Hm,” Valerie said. “I’m not sure I should be taking advice from the enemy here.” David thought she sounded a little bit … flirty. He exchanged glances with Stevie, and saw she had noticed too. He could see her mentally getting out the popcorn. Ronnie and Valerie?</p><p>“I’m not your enemy,” Ronnie said. “Don’t listen to this one.” She waved a hand in Patrick’s direction. </p><p>“I never do,” Valerie said, smiling at Patrick.</p><p>Ronnie said, “I’ll offer a toast too, then.” She stood up and held up her beer. Patrick looked wary. “To David,” she said. “For his essential oils. Also, he is the only one at this table who has hit a home run off of me.” </p><p>“So far,” Valerie murmured.</p><p>“Oh, well,” David said, surprised and pleased.</p><p>“Okay, Ronnie,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes, because of course he saw this as a slam at him and not a compliment to David. And, well, it probably was a slam at Patrick, but it could be both, right?</p><p>They all clinked glasses again and drank.</p><p>Ronnie sat down again and said, “You know, Patrick, you should really get David to play for you again. He’s obviously the real player in your family.”</p><p>She was clearly trying to get a rise out of Patrick with this, but instead of being annoyed, Patrick’s face softened, and he looked at David with eyes that glowed with warm affection. “You’re right, Ronnie,” he said. “David’s the best player I’ve ever had.” </p><p>“Hey,” Valerie said.</p><p>Patrick slid his arm around David’s waist and drew him close. David hummed. It was always nice to get a compliment, even one that was baseball related. Patrick said, “I’ve been trying to persuade him to play again for the last three years.”</p><p>“I’m retired,” David said.</p><p>Patrick leaned in, intending to whisper in David’s ear, but his voice wasn’t as quiet as he thought. He said, “Maybe I can at least persuade you to wear the uniform again.” He nuzzled behind David’s ear as his hand drifted down to the hem of David’s sweater, like he was going to take it off him right there.</p><p>“Shh, we’ll talk about it later,” David said, putting his hand over Patrick’s and biting down on a smile.</p><p>Ronnie made a disgusted sound. “Keep it in your pants, Brewer,” she said. </p><p>“I’m with Ronnie on this one,” Valerie said.</p><p>“Same,” Stevie said.</p><p>The three women clinked glasses. Patrick was blushing but he just held David tighter. “I can’t help it if my husband looks great in a baseball uniform,” he said.</p><p>Ronnie said, “He’s not the only one,” and she looked at Valerie. Valerie blushed, and she sat up straight and held Ronnie’s gaze.</p><p>Patrick had gone back to nuzzling David behind the ear, but David looked over at Stevie, who widened her eyes with glee. Ronnie and Valerie, definitely.</p><p>Ronnie said to Valerie in a low voice, “You want to get out of here?”</p><p>“Okay,” Valerie said demurely. They stood up.</p><p>Patrick finally looked up. “Wait, what?” he said.</p><p>“I’m taking your star pitcher home with me,” Ronnie said.</p><p>Patrick’s eyes darted over to Valerie, and Valerie shrugged.</p><p>A line formed on Patrick’s forehead. He said, “Well, this is—I don’t—”</p><p>David elbowed him in the ribs before he could say something stupid like <em>I don’t approve.</em> Ronnie looked smug.</p><p>Patrick said to Valerie, “Fine. Can you at least spy out some intel for our game next week?”</p><p>Valerie said, “Why else do you think I’m going?”</p><p>Ronnie raised an eyebrow at her, and Valerie gave her a beatific smile. “After you,” Ronnie said. They went out together.</p><p>“What just happened?” Patrick exclaimed.</p><p>“I told you baseball was the great uniter,” Stevie said. </p><p>“I say it looks like Ronnie won today after all,” David said.</p><p>*</p><p>Patrick was in the shower. David had already gotten naked and was waiting for him in their bed. He figured it would save time.</p><p>Patrick came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He discarded the towel and slid under the covers. “Hi,” he said.</p><p>“Hi,” David said, smiling in anticipation. Patrick reached out and pulled David close, so their bodies were pressed together. Then Patrick kissed him, diving right into it, his tongue searching, a little aggressive. David kissed him back, enjoying the extra thrum of energy radiating off of Patrick. Victory sex was usually delightfully energetic.</p><p>David felt his energy rising to match, and he wrapped his arms around Patrick and rolled them over, pushing Patrick onto his back and climbing on top of him. David rested his forearms so they framed either side of Patrick’s face and kissed him hard, thrusting in his tongue, taking control of the kiss. Patrick responded eagerly, his hands roaming down David’s body as he pushed up his hips, seeking more contact. He was already half-hard.</p><p>David pulled back. “You know what I was just thinking?” he said.</p><p>“How much you want to fuck me?” Patrick said, lifting his head, trying to chase David’s lips.</p><p>“No,” David said. “I mean, yes, but besides that. I was thinking you should be glad Ronnie didn’t really want to make up.”</p><p>Patrick said, “How so?” He lifted his head again, trying to reach David’s mouth, but David pulled back again. He wanted to make this point.</p><p>David said, “I was thinking about this while you were in the shower. And it occurred to me, that some people are motivated by love and kindness, and thrive when the people around them are encouraging and supportive. And other people—assholes—are motivated by spite and a desire to beat everyone.”</p><p>Patrick said, “So you’re saying that I—”</p><p>“Obviously, you are one of the assholes that is motivated by spite.”</p><p>“Hm,” Patrick said, frowning.</p><p>“Do you disagree?”</p><p>Patrick said, “That’s not the word I’d use.”</p><p>“What would you say then?”</p><p>“I’d say I’m motivated by the spirit of competition.”</p><p>David allowed his cocked eyebrow to speak for him.</p><p>“Hmph,” Patrick said.</p><p>David kissed Patrick’s lower lip, which was starting to pooch out. He said, “Hey, I’m not complaining. If you weren’t a little bit of an asshole, I probably wouldn’t be attracted to you.”</p><p>Patrick gave him a slow smile and said, “Because you’re an asshole too.”</p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p>Patrick wrapped his arms around David and flipped them over so he was on top again. He gave David a long, deep, filthy kiss.</p><p>David slid his hands down Patrick’s back, stroking down to cup his ass.</p><p>Patrick spread his legs in invitation, and David took the hint and dipped his fingers between his cheeks, stroking along his hole. “So,” Patrick said. “Can we talk more about you being attracted to my asshole?”</p><p>David groaned. “I believe I said I was attracted to your asshole personality.”</p><p>“How about both?” Patrick said, pushing his ass up against David’s hand.</p><p>David decided not to argue. Anyway, it <em>was</em> both. Definitely both.</p><p>*</p><p>After some very energetic victory sex—seriously, game days were the best days—they cleaned up and got into their sleep clothes and got back into bed.</p><p>Patrick said, “You know, you’re right, David. I did play better today when I was focused on wanting to beat Ronnie. I feel like that doesn’t say good things about me. I’m the captain. I should be more—I don’t know.”</p><p>“Mature?”</p><p>Patrick reached over and pinched him. “I should set a good example for the team. you know, it’s all in good fun, it’s not whether you win or lose, all that stuff.”</p><p>David said, “Well, if it makes you feel better, Ronnie is obviously the same. She didn’t play well today either. Remember, she ‘hung that pitch’ or whatever, she threw over Roland’s head, she walked Gwen, the worst hitter on the team …”</p><p>“David,” Patrick said, propping himself up on one elbow, his face all lit up. “You were paying attention! You know about baseball!”</p><p>David groaned. “I don’t,” he said. “It is knowledge I do not want. Do not tease me about it.”</p><p>“Why would I tease you? I’m happy.”</p><p>“It’s just, it’s not part of my self-concept to have that knowledge,” David said.</p><p>Patrick moved closer and stroked a hand over his chest. “You know, I know a lot about designers now.”</p><p>“Mm, would we say a lot?”</p><p>Patrick leaned down to kiss along David’s jaw. “More than I did before.”</p><p>“Which was zero,” David said.</p><p>Patrick reached the spot behind his ear and grazed his teeth against it. “Equivalent to your baseball knowledge.”</p><p>“Mm, true,” David said, and tilted his head to allow for better access.</p><p>“I’ve also watched a lot of Sandra Bullock movies,” Patrick said. “That has to count for something.”</p><p>“But see, Sandra Bullock movies are actually interesting. That’s the difference there.”</p><p>Patrick laughed. “Oh, my mistake,” he said.</p><p>“And, if Sandra Bullock put out a new movie every day for five months, and I made you watch every single one with me, it might be a fair comparison.”</p><p>“Pretty sure we’ve watched Miss Congeniality at least that many times,” Patrick said.</p><p>“Not even close. Half, at most.”</p><p>“David, I have news for you. That’s still a lot of times to watch one movie.”</p><p>“But you get something new out of it each time!” </p><p>“David,” Patrick said. David turned on his side to look at him, and from the look in Patrick’s eyes he knew something unbearably affectionate was about to come out of his mouth. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I love that you come to my games to cheer me on.”</p><p>“And I bring snacks.”</p><p>“Most of those are for you, though.”</p><p>“Not the orange slices. And that antifreeze drink you like.”</p><p>“Thank you for bringing me my antifreeze, David,” Patrick hummed. He pushed David gently, encouraging him to turn on his side so they could spoon.</p><p>David turned and Patrick settled in behind him. David said, “I also make sure you put on good sunscreen, instead of the battery acid stuff you used to use.”</p><p>“And you apply it to all my hard-to-reach places.”</p><p>David reached back and patted Patrick’s hip. “I do love your hard-to-reach places.”</p><p>Patrick said, “Seriously, David, I know sports aren’t your favorite thing, so it means a lot to me. I probably don’t thank you enough for that.”</p><p>David “Well, keeping in mind that I reserve the right to complain endlessly, it’s actually a little bit fun to watch you get all wound up and illogical about something.”</p><p>“Wait, you think I’m illogical about baseball?”</p><p>David laughed. “Um, yeah,” he said. </p><p>He could feel the deep breath Patrick was taking, gearing up for what was undoubtedly going to be a very long discourse on why every action he took regarding baseball was very logical and reasonable. David said, “I’m going to stop you right there. If, at some future date, you would like to present your arguments in a Powerpoint presentation, I am prepared to listen.”</p><p>“Okay, but can I just—” </p><p>“Provided, of course, you do the presentation naked.”</p><p>Patrick laughed into his shoulder. “All right, I’ll get started on it right away,” he said. </p><p>“My point is, you love baseball, so it makes you do irrational things. And since I love you, I do irrational things. Like watch baseball.”</p><p>“Aw, David, that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”</p><p>“See, this is what I’m talking about! I’ve done things that are a lot more romantic than that.”</p><p>“Well, I would do irrational things for you too, anytime.”</p><p>David hummed. “You do already.” </p><p>“Mm, like what?”</p><p><em>Like fall in love with me,</em> David thought. The most irrational thing of all, that he still couldn’t quite believe, even with one ring on his finger and four more nestled in a dish on his bedside table. </p><p>Patrick didn’t think it was irrational, though. Patrick could no doubt put together a Powerpoint for that too, with graphs and color coded charts, on why falling in love with David was the only logical and reasonable thing to do. </p><p>Maybe he could do that presentation naked, too. David smiled in the darkness, thinking of it.</p><p>“David,” Patrick murmured.</p><p>“Yes, Patrick?”</p><p>“Maybe I am crazy about baseball. But I’m crazier about you.” He pressed a light kiss to the back of David's neck</p><p>David said softly, "I'm crazy about you, too.”</p><p>David smoothed a hand down Patrick’s arm and interlaced his fingers with his. The baseball was certainly good for one thing—it gave Patrick these lovely strong arms to wrap around him. David closed his eyes and let sleep steal over him, here in the warm circle of his husband’s arms.</p>
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